Cat Tales (2 page)

BOOK: Cat Tales

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I took to driving the streets late at night, examining the road-kill by the side of the road. It seemed, however, that black cats were somewhat smarter than other cats at crossing roads. Dead tabbies there were aplenty and a surprising number of pedigree breeds, proving wrong it seemed the pretentious notion that pedigree cats were somehow more intelligent than your average moggy. Then on the sixth night, I believed I'd found what I was looking for: a poor dark bundle lying in the gutter in the shadow of a tree. Pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, I stepped from the car, glanced up and down the silent street, removed a sack from the boot, and deftly placed the cat inside. It was only upon returning home that I found the cat wasn't black. It was instead a very dark grey that had easily been mistaken for black as it lay in the shadows. I placed the cat in the fridge while I thought what to do next.

At first, I was mortified. You may imagine my concern. It seemed right then that this had been my last chance and tomorrow morning I would need to ring M. and confess I had no money. I even thought of jumping in the car and driving away as fast as I could. It would give me a few days, perhaps even weeks, maybe a month, if I was lucky, but M. was the sort of person who had connections everywhere. It would be only a matter of time before he tracked me down. Then, all of a sudden, a clever idea, an epiphany of pure genius, struck me. You cannot deny that I had made progress. Before I had been catless, now at least I had a dead cat in the fridge. It was not quite the right colour, that was true; but my ex-wife, a natural brunette, managed successfully to spend her adult life as a blonde. I found my spirits rising and knew, with conviction, I was not far from my goal.

The following morning, I placed the dead cat in the bathtub and unwrapped my purchase from the local pharmacy. On the box there was a picture of a beautiful young woman with a dazzling smile and lustrous dark hair. Her particular shade of hair colouring, the writing on the box told me, was Midnight Black. I read the instructions carefully. The first step was to “wet hair thoroughly.” I ran the shower and gently rolled the poor stiff moggy beneath it until its fur was well-soaked. It was surprising how skinny the cat was when wet. It was a slight little creature that obviously hadn't been well-fed by its owner. Next I massaged the dye into its fur, making sure it got into all the nooks and crannies, which wasn't easy as rigor mortis had set in and it was hard to get the dye up between its legs and into the furry little arm pits. But after ten or so minutes, I was indeed satisfied that my grey cat was well and truly covered in black. I left him for half an hour to allow the dye to take, then ran the shower again and gave him a good rinsing. From the bathroom cupboard, I took a big fluffy towel and dried him all over. Truth be known, I was growing quite fond of the cat; and, even though he was dead, I felt an almost fatherly affection as I played the blow dryer up and down his body, paying particular attention to drying inside his leathery ears.

I was most pleased with the result. The sheen I'd managed to achieve from careful application of the dye was wondrous to behold. The manufacturers had certainly been true to their words; the cat was a now a beautiful midnight black. If anything the lustre of its coat was greater even than the hair of the young woman used to advertise the product. Yes, I had my black cat and soon my ordeal would be over. I decided then that Midnight would be a suitable name for him.

T
HAT NIGHT, shortly before midnight, with my head-stones of Toowong cemetery. I was more than a little nervous, even if only at the thought of being in a cemetery so late at night. Who knew what dangers might be lurking there? Anything from drunken young men to the ghosts of psychotic killers was possible in a place such as this. But I steadied my fears by focussing on the task at hand. I had thought, as I drove to the cemetery, that it might not be as easy to find a freshly dug grave as I'd imagined. After all, Toowong cemetery is a big place, and I'd never had occasion to visit it previously. My anxiety in this regard, however, was soon allayed. After ten minutes, I came across a newer area of the cemetery where recent burials had taken place and was astonished to find there were a great many graves to choose from. On reflection, this should have been expected. It had been a long hot summer, and many of the older folks had taken the opportunity of the heat to breathe their last.

I stopped at the first fresh grave I came too, placed the sack on the ground, and ran my fingers through the soil. Finding it still moist, as opposed to crusty and dry, I decided the burial must have taken place that afternoon. This would do splendidly, I thought. I checked my mobile, as I had many times already that evening, to ensure it was fully charged and not about to die on me at the critical moment. Satisfied, I returned to the bag and withdrew Midnight from it. Firstly, I dragged him lengthwise from the head to the foot of the grave, then diagonally from left to right, then from right to left. As per the instructions, I placed Midnight at the point where all the lines intersected.

Cautiously, I stepped back from the grave and looked around me. How dark it seemed now and the breeze so chill, even though the air had been so warm earlier. I was overcome with a sudden sense of foolishness. A grown man performing some silly ritual at midnight in the cemetery with a dead cat he'd spent the morning dying black? Ridiculous! Pathetic! Even though I had denied it before, it seemed self-evident now that I was truly mad; and all of the stress of the last few months of my life had tipped me over the edge without my realising it. I bent down, meaning to return Midnight to the sack, to head back to the car, to give up on my fool's errand; but as I touched his body I felt a vibration running through it. Impossible, I thought, but as I began to stroke his fur, the vibration grew louder. There was no mistaking it. Midnight was purring.

The phone rang! Midnight and I almost jumped out of our skins. I pulled the mobile from my belt, pressed its answer button. “Yes,” I said nervously.

“What do you think you're doing?” a thick voice asked brusquely.

“Is this . . . ?”

“Of course, it is!”

“Money,” I said. “I need lots of money and I need it really soon.”

“No.”

I stared at the phone in disbelief. Who had ever heard of such a thing? The devil didn't wish to make a deal. Midnight had now fully recovered his senses. He was purring loudly and rubbing against my legs. I put the phone back up to my ear.

“This is the Devil, isn't it?” I asked.

“Yes,” a weary voice said.

“And you do do deals?”

I imagined I heard somebody rapping their fingernails loudly and irritably on a heavy wooden table.

“The cat is grey,” the Devil said. “The instructions were very specific on that point, were they not?”

“Yes. Yes, they were,” I said, trying to sound as agreeable as possible.

“And you are offering me a grey cat?” the Devil said. “Is that what you are doing?”

“You should see him,” I said. “He's a beautiful black cat. Why, I have never seen a cat as beautiful and black as he is. He is simply a marvellous black. Blacker than any cat could naturally be. Sometimes modern technology can really improve on nature.”

I bent down and patted Midnight on top of the head. He rubbed his nose against my fingers. Through the phone I heard a sharp intake of breath. I thought the connection was about to go dead, but it didn't. Half a minute went by.

“I went to a lot of trouble dyeing him the right colour,” I said. “I mean, people who just offer up naturally black cats don't go to the trouble I did.”

“I like black cats,” the Devil said.

“He really is very black,” I said. “There was nothing on the website that specified he had to be
naturally
black.”

There was a long sigh. “There is another problem,” the Devil said. “You didn't kill him.”

“He was dead. Most definitely. I know he's alive now â I guess you had something to do with that, a sign of your powers, and wondrous they are indeed.”

“Yes, yes, yes, but
you
didn't kill him. You are supposed to be making a black cat sacrifice to the Devil. You know what a sacrifice is, don't you?”

“Um, yes. Yes, I think I do.”

“So instead we have grey cat killed by a car? How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I can understand that you might be a little unhappy,” I said, “but I have really been trying my best. The instructions said he had to be dead. And he was dead when I brought him here. The instructions didn't mention anything about a sacrifice.”

Another long sigh from the phone. Of course, I should not be arguing with the Devil, I thought; but really if the instructions weren't correct what was I expected to do? If I had known I was supposed to actually kill a cat, I would have never thought of this solution in the first place. Besides, there were certain ethical considerations to be taken into account, even in dealing with the Devil. Honesty was paramount. I had followed the instructions as carefully as I could. Surely, even the Devil must see that.

“Wait!” came the Devil's voice. He sounded very angry. I could hear fingers tapping on a keyboard, and then a voice roared out as if from the very depths of Hell itself. My body shook all over with the force of the sound. I waited for fire and brimstone to rise up and engulf me, but then a different voice came on the line.

“Hello. Thank you for waiting. Your patience is appreciated while we endeavour to rectify the problems you have been experiencing.”

“This is not the Devil, is it?”

“I'm one of the demon helpers. Now what was it you wanted?”

“To sort out the problem about the sacrifice, so I can sell my soul, get some money and save my life.”

“All sorted,” the demon helper chirped.

“I don't understand,” I said.

“You offered one grey, road-kill cat; and â under the circumstances â it has been agreed that is acceptable. The website has been updated so that in future it will be abundantly clear to
others
that a naturally black cat is to be sacrificed.”

“The money?” I asked hesitantly.

“I've updated your bank account even as we speak. I am sure that you will find the amount deposited more than sufficient for your purposes.”

It was in that moment, I felt most chilled and fearful. My offer had been accepted! The transaction had been completed! The money was in my bank account!

My soul was doomed to Hell!

“Is there anything else we can help you with?” the demon helper asked.

“My soul . . .” I whispered.

“Oh, yes, your soul. The Devil has decided to waive that particular condition. Frankly, between you and me, the Devil is most unhappy. He would prefer never to see or hear from you again.
You
made him feel fallible. He likes to have everything just so perfect all of the time and, as you have rightly, but annoyingly, pointed out, the website contained errors. There will be Hell to pay, I can assure you. Goodnight.”

And with that the circuit went dead. I bent down to pick up Midnight. He cuddled into my arms, all soft and purring. It was only then I remembered I'd read on the internet that in some cultures black cats are actually lucky. I wondered how long his dye job would last.

Geoffrey Maloney lives in Brisbane, Australia with
his wife, Diana, his three daughters and their three
cats. Geoffrey's recent stories have appeared in the
anthologies,
When Graveyards Yawn
from
Crowswing Books,
Agog Ripping Reads
from Agog
Press, and
Fantastic Wonder Stories
from
Ticonderoga. A largely retrospective collection of
Geoffrey's short fiction,
Tales from the Crypto-System
is available from Prime Books.